Chaos
by CheesePie
Summary: Short death fic, everybody Matt cared about is dead and while he waits for his own death, he reflects on a few things... there is implied stuff, if you look deep enough.. written while going through writers block so beware.


**Yeah... i had writers block and so after hiding under the table in chemistry (you know.. so the writers block wouldn't get me...) i wrote this.**

**i know it's really random and stuff but i still like it ^^**

**WARNING: death fic, slight implied stuff depending on how you look at it (but i look at it as a lot more then implied)**

**Disclaimer: if i owned Death Note, Matt would have much more screen time and Mello wouldn't have died.**

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_CHAOS_

Blood splattered the cold grey wall he leaned against for support, clutching the gun loosely in one weak hand and using the other to flick ash from the tip of his cigarette. Smoke filled the small space between him and the wall as he exhaled deeply, enjoying the moment of peace in amongst the chaos and destruction.

It was almost as though, in that moment he wasn't bleeding his life away. Crimson against an empty stone canvas. It seemed almost as though he hadn't fallen an early victim to the lure of insanity, because of how calm he felt in the face of possible death.

_Certain death._ It was inevitable that he would die today. This was an inescapable truth and one that he would accept graciously. He could already feel the cold embrace of death enveloping him, taking him away from this world and into the next. That's if there was a next.

It had been almost like the world's best video game. The graphics were perfect, the story was relatable, if not somewhat unbelievable, and the pain actually _hurt_.

Now he was up to the last level and this was it. The incomplete level everybody kept talking about. The level where you got to decide your own ending and there was no guarantee that things would turn out alright. In fact, there was a high probability that things would be disastrous. And you only got one chance.

There were no restarts, no save points, extra lives or anything like that. It was just you and your final demon, forced to battle it out.

Matt felt a pain burning in his stomach from one of his many gunshot wounds. He had been shot again and again and again relentlessly and with only one weapon and so many to target, he had been heavily out-matched. Still, he felt calm and peaceful, inhaling once more, deeply and pausing to savour the bitter taste before releasing another cloud of smoke into the cramped space where he had taken refuge.

Really, ten against one, he had no idea what he had been thinking. Though Matt considered himself an expert gamer, the odds in a video game and the odds in real life were very, _very_ different. Yet the bodies, piled on the floor, leaking, oozing blood all over the floor making a trail up to where he stood, spoke differently of the odds.

Ten against one in a video game wouldn't have been a problem and for Matt out in the real world, it wasn't a problem either. Though he was indeed severely injured it didn't matter.

In a game he could just search for a health pack or something of the sort and in the real world, if he had had anybody left, he could go to somebody for help. But that was just it, the problem, the reason, and the cause of all of this. The only reason any of this had begun.

Because everybody was dead, gone, taken away until there was nothing left to fill the void and nothing left to even convince him he was real. Yes, that was a big, _real_ issue for Matt sometimes. He spent so much of his time in a world created by other people that he had trouble connecting back to the real one.

All of them, everybody Matt used to have on his side, everybody he used to care about had been struck down by Kira. And not a single one of them, not for all their worth, could've predicted Matt would be the last one left. The odds against that were stacked right up the heavens – or whatever was up there, beyond those white, fluffy clouds – and yet it happened.

Matt took another drag from the cigarette before tossing it carelessly to the ground, not bothering to stamp it out.

He knew that if Mello had been there, he would've – predictably, despite the fact that he insisted otherwise – yelled at Matt, because he didn't like the smell or the fact that there was always ash all over the place.

But Mello was dead and so it didn't matter.

None of it mattered anymore. Though that was the sort of attitude he would always disagree with, especially when things got _too hard_ – or so Mello would say – and he would say he didn't want to continue, he wanted to give up, he wanted to leave it all behind, consequences be damned. But Matt was always there right by his side to make things better; to tell him things were going to work out, to fill the world with pretty little lies that couldn't _possibly_ be true, just so he would have the strength to carry on.

Matt smiled bitterly as he thought about this.

How many times had he saved Mello from himself? How many times had he picked the blonde up from a broken, disoriented, _frustrated-with-life_ state and made everything okay with his simple little words?

For somebody so amazing and smart, Mello sure required a lot of reassurance.

And suddenly – even in the face of death – his smile wasn't bitter anymore, as he thought how Mello would hate to be compared to a weak insecure girl. Though he really did act that way sometimes.

Not that it would matter how Mello felt about it.

Because Mello was dead. And so it didn't matter at all.

Nothing mattered now.

Matt had watched as the world was reformed by somebody who thought he knew better than all the rest. And you know, maybe he did? But it didn't matter because Matt had also been forced to watch as his own world was destroyed.

Mello was dead.

Despite the many, many times he promised nothing bad would happen… and even killing all of those people, the ones who led him to his death, hadn't given Matt any form of peace. Yet he felt peaceful.

Matt sat down in a pool of his own blood. It made a sick _slosh_ as he hit the ground and it was still leaking from his gun wounds but he couldn't feel the pain.

A serene smile made its presence known as he leaned back against the wall, also covered in his blood. He pulled out another cigarette, thinking of how Mello would hate it, and drifted off into a peaceful, eternal abyss.


End file.
